Uncertainty
by Spiritus Scriptor
Summary: After handing over the signed contract, Bilbo begins to wonder if joining Thorin's company was really the best thing to do. Midst doubting himself, he finds that he has friends...or doesn't he? Set in the deluge/Trollshaw scenes. No slash.


**This is quite a long shot...I mean, a oneshot...I mean, a long oneshot that I wrote for CaptainAmberRose's contest thingie. My other fics have been kind of Fili/Kili-centric (what can I say? I like the Durin brothers) even if Bilbo is the main character in one of them. And though they do make an appearance in this one, it's mostly a Bilbo/Bofur pairing. No slash.**

**I tried to make this angsty...but how angsty can Bilbo be? Honestly. He's just an adorable little hobbit. :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like to write about it :)**

***Deep breath* Well, here goes nothing...**

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"Mister Gandalf! Can't you do something about this deluge?" called one of the dwarves—Dori, Bilbo thought. He must try to remember their names.

"It is _raining_, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until it stops!" Gandalf replied irritably. He then suggested that if they wished to change the weather they could seek the assistance of another wizard. Bilbo drew his focus to his loosening grip on the reins as the old wizard prattled off the names of the others of his kind—or, their descriptions at least. He seemed to Bilbo to be very forgetful, and he was beginning to wonder why he had followed them on their journey. Gandalf seemed to base his faith in him almost entirely on the fact that he used to like to go out romping and exploring, but that was something that any youth—hobbit or otherwise—would do.

And now he was stuck here, shivering in the cold and wet, damp horsehair scratching his ankles and making life a misery. He would catch a cold now, he was sure of it.

"And then there's…Radagast the Brown," Gandalf finally drew his train of thought to a close.

"Is he a great wizard, or is he…more like you?" Bilbo blurted, before he could think. Gandalf mumbled in reply and shook his head dismissively.

"Should we stop and seek some kind of shelter?" Ori wondered nervously, trailing along in the back of the group. "I can't see a thing!" Bilbo agreed completely, but did not voice his opinion, as his favor among the dwarves was fragile at best. He didn't want to be abandoned in the forest somewhere and have to make his own way back in shame. They had placed bets on whether or not he would follow, for heaven's sake. Nothing was stopping them from leaving him behind.

"And what shelter do you propose we find here in the middle of nowhere?" Thorin spoke up, annoyed. If Bilbo had had any qualms about speaking up before, they had just increased tenfold.

And so they trudged on in uncomfortable silence, each one of them wanting to speak but not daring to, for fear of angering Gandalf and, in the same vein as Bilbo's fear, having him leave them to find their way without guidance. Bilbo knew he'd been stupid for saying what he had, but he was so much at the end of his rope with this adventure already that he'd just…said it. He knew the dwarves were probably all angry with him, for he had insulted their guide, who, wizard or not, knew the landscape of Middle-Earth much better than they.

Head bent, he removed his hand from the reins just long enough to pull his hood up farther. However, he let go just long enough to teeter and nearly fall from the pony, which earned him a laugh from several. He cursed himself for being so foolish. He couldn't even sit a pony, how was he to battle a dragon? The only reason he'd come on this journey was asinine. He'd wanted to prove himself, after what had transpired the night before. How could he have been such a coward, fainting dead away like that? But what Gandalf had told him later resonated with him. He came from such a strong line, especially for hobbits—while there he sat, a shivering wreck, clutching his mug of tea in utter shock and fussing because the dwarves couldn't tell a doily from a dishrag. But Gandalf was right—Bilbo had been sitting quietly long enough. It was time for him to do something. After all, he wasn't getting any younger.

At long last, under a darkling sky, they came across a ruin which was deemed suitable shelter for the night. A fire was built outside their decrepit lodging, and their bedrolls placed around it to take full advantage of its warmth. The nights grew colder this time of year, and Bilbo was worried that he might catch his death from exposure. The dwarves were well-equipped with their coats, furs, and heavy boots, whereas he had only a thin corduroy jacket and was barefoot. And not only that, but they were at a higher altitude than he had ever been. He felt ill and dizzy and had a slight headache, but he didn't dare mention anything to anyone for fear of seeming a burden.

Bombur had started preparing a meal, and everyone was helping—except Bilbo. He sat apart on his bedroll, the farthest from the fire, and moped. There really wasn't a better word for it that he could think of. He just sat and wallowed in abject misery.

Knees drawn up to his chin, Bilbo only looked up when he heard someone approaching. It was Bofur, he could tell by the unusual hat and the jaunty trot. Great. Bofur was the last person he wanted to see right now. He didn't need the dwarf's chipper demeanor getting in the way of his pity party. His mood was made worse when he saw that Kíli followed closely behind.

"Can't help but notice you're sitting in the dark all alone," Kíli said with a devilish grin once he'd arrived.

"Something wrong, laddie?" Bofur asked kindly.

"I've got a headache," Bilbo replied, attempting to be polite. "Nothing to worry about."

"I'm sure we could do something to help," suggested Kíli. "I wonder if Óin would have anything…"

"What's Óin got to do with any of this?" Bilbo snapped peevishly, so unlike his normal self. "I don't need anyone else getting concerned about me. It's bad enough that you two are."

"He's an apothecary…" Bofur recollected. "Master Kíli thought that he might be able to give you something. We just want to help."

"Why?" the Halfling asked incredulously.

"We're not _that_ bad, are we?" questioned Kíli, sounding genuinely hurt.

Someone else strode over, and Bilbo saw that it was Kíli's brother, Fíli. They were never far apart.

"What's this? he demanded with mock severity. "Mr. Baggins, you haven't hurt my baby brother's feelings, now, have you?" Dropping to the ground beside his brother, he ruffled the younger dwarf's hair. "Was the hobbit mean, nadadith?" he teased. His brother responded with a glare and a playful shove.

"Of course not!" Bilbo found himself laughing.

"Bilbo has the mountain sickness," Bofur explained.

"How did you…" Bilbo began.

"You can tell, laddie. It happens to those who aren't born and bred in the heights."

"Oh."

"Why don't you come and sit nearer the fire?" offered Fíli. "This cold air can't be making it any better."

"I...thought I'd stay away," Bilbo admitted, ashamed. "I'm enough of a burden as it is without all of you worrying about me."

"Oh, nonsense." Fíli waved a hand dismissively.

"But…I thought you all hated me. Well…Thorin does, at least."

"Psh," Kíli snorted. "That's just his way. He acts like he hates _us_ half the time, and we're his nephews!" He helped him to his feet and, drawing and arm around his shoulders, steered him in the direction of the glowing fire. Bilbo was all the more uncomfortable now. If Thorin was rightful king, and Fíli and Kíli his nephews, presumably his only surviving kin, then they must be…

"You don't have to bother," he said.

"Of course we do," smiled Bofur. "After all, you're one of us now."

"Yup," grinned the young prince holding him up. "You're in for the long haul." He thumped him on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. "Oh, sorry." he apologized, patting him more lightly.

"We'll see if Óin can get you anything, and in the meantime, don't worry." Fíli said. "We have to go off and guard the ponies, but Bofur will look after you. Won't you, Bofur?"

"Aye." the dwarf in question nodded.

"Mahal knows what those vicious ponies will do if we don't watch them," Kíli grinned.

The two sauntered off, still laughing, as Bofur guided Bilbo nearer the fire and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

"I expect Bombur will have the food ready soon," he mused. "You should try to eat, if you're up to it. We won't be stopping for meals until nightfall most days, and if I understand correctly, you hobbits eat up to six times a day."

"Seven, sometimes." Bilbo corrected.

"Well, then." Bofur concluded, with a slight raise of the eyebrows.

Sitting by the fire did Bilbo a world of good. Once he warmed up he felt much better. The headache and dizziness had begun to dissipate and he found himself able to get up and eat a considerable amount of the stew that Bofur brought him.

"So," he said, swallowing. "I'm not a burden, then?"

"Of course not!" Bofur exclaimed. "Now why would you think that?"

"_I cannot guarantee his safety,"_ Thorin had said. He hadn't meant to overhear, and now he wished he hadn't. _"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."_ He was every inch a fool. Why, oh _why_ had he needed to prove himself?

"No reason," Bilbo muttered, swallowing sudden tears of dismay. If he were to continue on this expedition, he would need to be strong and show no weakness.

"You're hiding something, laddie." Bofur pried.

"I…well, I…" Bilbo stammered. Sighing, he grumbled," I'm a bit of a disappointment, aren't I?"

"No," Bofur droned, drawing out the vowel sound. "It's to be expected. You're not used to this sort of thing. You know, wilderness and all that." Playfully, he chucked his companion on the shoulder.

"I guess not."

"Well, as you're feeling better, would you mind doing me a favor…" he broke off, got up and walked away, and returned with two more bowls of stew. "and take these to Fíli and Kíli? I'm sure they'd be glad to know you're well."

"All right." Bilbo gathered his remaining strength and went off in search of the two, careful not to slop hot broth on his slightly shaking hands as he went.

He found the brothers crouching down behind a log, carefully watching something in the distance.

"What's going on?" he asked, coming to kneel between them.

"Something's taken the ponies," Fíli replied, never breaking his careful gaze.

"Something big," Kíli added. "Look at that tree." He pointed to an uprooted trunk. The trio kept closer, Bilbo carefully carrying the bowls with him. Fíli peered closer.

"Trolls," he groaned quietly.

"Erm…Bilbo!" Kíli nudged the hobbit forward. "Why don't you scope out the situation? Don't worry, trolls are slow and stupid. And we'll be right behind you." Taking the bowls from him, he pushed him further towards the clearing where the trolls had set up camp.

And so it was that Bilbo Baggins found himself nearing the trolls' encampment without even a weapon, much less his wits about him. Sneaking past the gargantuan beasts, he tried to open the pen where the ponies were being held, waiting to be cooked.

One of the things had something resembling a knife hanging from its loincloth…if only he could reach it without the monster noticing.

No luck. Bilbo found himself hanging upside down, being held by one of the creatures, who, up close, Bilbo thought, looked like a giant version of something one might find in their nose. Its skin appeared to be covered in mucus, and its breath was rank as it growled in his face, interrogating him. _Slow and_ _stupid, eh, Kili?_ he thought offhandedly, terrified though he was.

"Drop him!" a voice roared.

"You wha'?" the troll questioned, turning slowly.

"I said," Kíli replied with a growl, brandishing his sword. "Drop him."

The troll complied, flinging him at the dwarf. They collided rather painfully, and the next few minutes were a blur, as the rest of the company stampeded through the brush, wielding swords and battle axes. Amid the chaos, Bilbo stole a carving tool and tried to cut the ponies loose, but soon found himself and the others rounded up and held captive by the great dirty beasts. Half the company was tied to the spit, pleading for their lives, while he and the rest lay on the ground tied in burlap sacks.

Having competed in many a sack race in his youth, Bilbo managed to get to his feet and hop over to address the trolls. Cries of outrage from his fellow travelers broke out when he explained how they should be properly cooked. Bombur was swept up and held dangling over a gaping mouth. He could only think of one way to save him.

"Not that one!" he cried. "He's infected. In fact, they all are. Every last one of them is riddled with parasites!"

"_We_ don't have parasites, _you_ have parasites!" Kíli countered from the pile. A swift kick from Thorin set him straight.

Amid the shouting and the boasting that followed about whose parasites were the largest, Gandalf appeared at the top of the hill.

"The dawn will take you all!" he roared, driving his staff into the ground. There was a blinding light, and Bilbo and the rest watched in amazement as the trolls, giving an almighty bellow, slowly turned to stone, shrinking in on themselves in strange, twisted positions. Frantically untying themselves, they scampered up the hill towards their camp. There would be no rest for the weary, as they planned to pack up and carry on straightaway.

Bilbo felt a newfound shame as he rolled up his bedding and shoved his possessions into his knapsack. He had nearly gotten every last one of them killed. _So much for the reassurance of last night_, he thought as they headed out, keeping his eyes fixated on the ground ahead of him. He dared not look either left or right, for he was surrounded by the harsh glances of others, not the least of which he could practically feel radiating from straight behind him. Thorin's steely glare shot daggers into the back of his still-aching head for hours as they continued along the path that wound endlessly on.

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**I just love ambiguous endings, don't you?**

**This is my first oneshot in a long time, so please review and tell me what you think!**

**-S.S. Ghostwriter**


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